


In a Hundred Years Time

by janto321 (FaceofMer)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 69 (Sex Position), Bottom Sherlock, Fluff and Smut, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Top John, Topping from the Bottom
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-31
Updated: 2013-12-31
Packaged: 2018-01-06 22:04:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,178
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1112029
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FaceofMer/pseuds/janto321
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sherlock never did have a good sense of when it was appropriate to have a shag.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In a Hundred Years Time

Sherlock stepped behind John and leaned down to whisper in his ear. "I want to suck you off."

To his credit, John kept the look of commiseration on his face. He quickly excused himself, pulling Sherlock to the side of the room. "We buried your great-aunt Margaret an hour ago. This isn't the time or place."

"I'm bored," muttered Sherlock.

John pinched the bridge of his nose. He already felt out of place here in the grand Holmes estate. Mycroft had insisted he come, no doubt hoping he would control his younger brother. The aforementioned younger brother squeezed his arm. "Come upstairs."

Sighing, John turned and followed him, throwing an apologetic look at Mycroft. He rolled his eyes and turned to speak with another dusty relative.

Sherlock took his hand as they went up a side staircase. John still couldn't quite grasp just how big this place was. Luckily Sherlock knew it as well as the London streets. After going down a few corridors he opened a door on a large corner bedroom. The bed stood with the headboard against the corner. The large windows would have let in plenty of light if they didn't bear heavy curtains. A desk held a chemistry set and the other wall was lined with bookshelves. A few mementos lay around: science fair trophies, a large globe and a framed picture of a very young Sherlock and Mycroft. John smiled. "This is your room."

"Was, yes." Sherlock pulled him towards the bed.

John let himself be led until he pushed Sherlock into his back and climbed over him, kissing him soundly. It all felt like teenage messing about, with family downstairs and childhood memories scattered about.

Sherlock snogged him enthusiastically, squeezing his arse with both hands. John knelt back to pull off his tie and suit jacket. "Don't suppose you have any lube?"

"Inside left pocket." He ran his hands down John's thighs. Smiling, John found the lube and went back to kissing with enthusiasm.

Sherlock arched up underneath him, seeking friction. Instead, John pulled away and slid off the bed, divesting Sherlock of trousers and pants. "I do want to taste you," Sherlock purred.

John kicked off his own bottoms. He climbed back into bed, turning so his heavy cock hung just over Sherlock's mouth and he was facing his lover’s. He looked under his belly and watched as Sherlock pulled him a little closer and slowly ran his tongue up his shaft. Shivering, John sucked the head of Sherlock's cock into his mouth.

Retaliating for the teasing, Sherlock pulled him deep. John groaned and went down on Sherlock with just as much enthusiasm. For a moment they both worked eagerly, pleasure building, until John pulled himself away, ignoring Sherlock’s needy whine as he rolled him over.

“I love you,” John said quite by accident as he pushed a lubed finger inside. Sherlock looked back over his shoulder and stared at him. John ducked his head, blushing. Reaching back, Sherlock squeezed his free hand.

“I enjoy hearing you say it,” he admitted quietly.

John added a second finger and silently opened him. Pulling his fingers back out he stretched out on top of his lover, carefully pushing his way in and making him groan. “I love you,” he whispered in Sherlock’s ear. “Now, tomorrow, in a hundred years’ time.”

Sherlock groaned and rocked underneath him. “Always,” he breathed, condensing everything to a single word.

John kissed his cheek, moving faster, closing his eyes to memorize the feel of Sherlock underneath him, his slender body, his quiet moans. He shifted them and reached to stroke Sherlock.

“Yes, John,” he groaned, resting on his forearms.

“I have you,” promised John, moving faster. Sherlock muffled his cries in the sheets. John kissed between his shoulder blades. There was a hitch to his breathing and John frowned, coming to a screeching halt. “Sherlock?”

The detective kept his face buried. John pulled out and gathered him in his arms. “What is it, love?” He turned him and was surprised to see tears in his eyes. Maybe the funeral was getting to him after all. “Talk to me.”

“I nearly lost you once,” said Sherlock, voice shaking. “ I do not know why I am suddenly compromised.”

“It can happen at funerals,” said John, stroking his cheek with his thumb.

“But you’re fine, we’re fine.” Sherlock rubbed his eyes with the back of his hand. “There is no need for alarm.”

John leaned in and kissed him gently. “We’re also in your childhood bedroom. I know you were a lonely child.”

“My childhood is irrelevant,” Sherlock waved his hand as if dismissing the thought.

Smiling, John kissed his tears. “Come on, shagging in here might not have been your most brilliant idea.”

Sherlock kissed him back. “We could go into Mycroft’s room.”

John laughed so hard he nearly fell off the bed. “No, Sherlock. Never.” He reached for his pants.

Sherlock wrapped his arms around John’s waist. “Stay.”

John smiled and rolled them over a few times on the bed until he was on top and facing him. “Is this what you wanted?” he asked as he pushed inside again.

“Always, my dear Doctor Watson,” Sherlock leaned up to kiss him, wrapping his arms around his back.

Moving slowly, John reveled in the feeling as he kissed him back. Sherlock might not say the words, but he could feel every ounce of the love. Suddenly there were footsteps in the hall. John cursed and started to get up as they stopped outside the door.

“Brother, they are expecting you downstairs,” said Mycroft through the door. “I do hope you and Doctor Watson are nearly finished.” The footsteps moved off.

John groaned and punched the bed. “Okay, that’s it. We’re waiting until we get home.”

“Nearly there,” Sherlock rolled them over so he was riding John.

“Sherlock,” moaned John, grabbing his hips.

Stroking his cock, Sherlock came quickly, staining John’s shirt. As he clenched around him, John followed him over.

Leaning down, Sherlock kissed him gently before pulling out. “If you put your tie back on and button your jacket, they may not notice.”

“Oh no, you’re staying here. I’m going home. Mycroft can give you a ride.”

Sherlock looked at him. John got up and pulled on his pants and trousers.

“But John,” he could hear the pout in this voice.

John looked heavenward. “Fine. Do you have any spare shirts in here?”

Sherlock got up and went to the wardrobe, pulling on his trousers absently. “Here you go, this belonged to my father.” He pulled out a white dress shirt.

“Thank you,” said John, switching them out. He pulled Sherlock down for a kiss. “Come on, let’s go down before your brother breaks down the door.”

“He won’t, they’re serving cakes down there.”

John rolled his eyes and put on his tie. Sherlock turned and fixed it for him before leading the way back downstairs. John shook his head, knowing Sherlock was what he was, and they loved each other, no matter what, for all of time.

  
  


**Author's Note:**

> This is my 100th fic here on AO3! 
> 
> And much thanks to letalkingmime and parapraxis while writing this one.
> 
> You can find me at [merindab.tumblr.com.](http://merindab.tumblr.com/)


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